Once the Ink Dries
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: A contract worker is brought in for a specialty job and how are they going to get Illya to sit still for this one. A Working Stiffs story


I'm what you would call an outside contractor for UNCLE. I have my own tattoo and piercing studio and I squeak by on what I make there, but the real payday is when UNCLE calls me in for a specialty job. There are times when they need my expertise. I've been called upon to place tracking devices into various parts of a woman's body. I've done some very interesting ink jobs on bad guys UNCLE had entertained for awhile. Let's just say, working with radioactive dye is a challenge and while nothing fell off or out, it was still a pretty anxious time.

Mostly UNCLE calls upon me to apply either temporary or 'aged' tattoos. Anyone can apply a fake tattoo, but to age it and make it look like it's been there for several years requires an artist and that would be me.

We'd been out kicking down and kicking ass the night before, so the phone call at six a.m. – why these people can't keep regular hours is beyond me – was not exactly a welcomed interruption. And it didn't make my bed partner any happier either. Oh, the moaning and complaining that went on – you'd think I'd done it on purpose.

Anyhow, the phone rang and it's the nice lady from UNCLE. Would I be available for a specialty job? Several tats and some piercings to boot! Hell, from the fee she quoted me, that would not only pay for my rent on both the flat and my shop, but I'd even have money left over for some serious partying. A girl has to have her priorities. I didn't have to think twice or even ask many questions. After working with them for awhile, I knew the routine.

One thing you can say about UNCLE, they have a nice collection of good-looking guys hanging around their corridors. Some of them walk around without their jackets on and they are wearing these shoulder holsters. My hands just itch to get on them and peel that leather away nice and slow, like the wrapper off a piece of candy, and get down to their soft, chewy center underneath.

A short elevator ride and I'm down amongst friends, the happy folks of Section Eight. I dated a lab tech for awhile and that's how I got my foot in the door. They needed something and I proved I was capable and could keep my mouth shut. UNCLE doesn't want any word-of-mouth advertising.

"Hey, Kelly, how's it going?" That's my buddy, Jaswinder. He's a great guy and very creative in bed. I left him with more than one good memory between us, but he wanted more commitment than I was willing to give. Men just think a girl wants a house and a white picket fence with a ton of kids running around. Not me, not now, probably not ever, but that's another story.

"Jas, my man, it is way cool." We hug like we're old school pals, keeping the naughty bits well away from each other, just to avoid speculation from all the other spazes hanging out here. "I hear you have a job for me."

"Remember Kuryakin?"

"The Russian guy? Hell, yes, I'm still having wet dreams, figuratively speaking, about him from the last job I did on him."

"He's going undercover and needs some color. He's also going to need a few piercings."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He and his partner are going undercover as a gay couple."

"You are shi… joshing me!" Now I could understand why there was a mood of joviality running through the place today. They lived for assignments like this. I don't know when the picture shifted from macho sea faring men wearing manly tattoos to, well, let's just say guys who 'crossed the fence' as it were, but it seemed to be the underground trend this year. It used to be just the dregs of society got tats, but people are starting to come around to a less sleazy attitude towards them. I don't make character judgments; I just ink 'em as I see 'em.

"You know what he wants?"

"What he wants has nothing to do with this assignment. We picked some out for him."

"Jas, let me just point it out to you; you have too much fun with your work."

"Yea, I'm lucky that way."

"And his partner?"

"Just one piercing to his left ear. He's going to be on stage, so we decided to go easy on him."

"So poor Kuryakin's carrying the burden this time around."

"His shoulders are broad, he can handle it." Jas turned and led the way to a back room. "Your canvas awaits you."

"So what am I doing? "

Jas handed me a sheet of paper with several designs on it. "Place them as you see fit."

"All of them? We are talking… what, henna?"

"As permanent as you can make it without making it permanent. We don't know how long the assignment will last. Afterwards, you'll need to give Napoleon a lesson or two so he can touch up the ones Illya can't reach."

I glanced down the list and frowned at the piercing. "Are you sure about this? The man's going to be in serious pain if I do all of this today."

"No choice, no time."

"Then he's going to need a local or three for some of these."

"Just give me a call and I'll get Medical down here. Nellie will love to oblige."

I nodded, knocked and walked into the room, feeling a little like a doctor getting ready to perform a very intimate exam. Not that I wouldn't mind, but once I set my case down, I become a professional.

"Mr. Kuryakin?"

He glanced up at me from the book he was studying. "Yes?"

"I'm here to do your tattoos and piercings."

He sighed and began to unbuckle his holster. Like most of the other guys around here, he wears the standard white shirt with black holster. I repressed the urge to start whistling _The Stripper_. I didn't know him all that well and he didn't seem to be really overjoyed about my presence or even his presence, to begin with.

"These won't be permanent?"

"No, I'm going to mix some ink with the henna to make it last a little bit longer, but these shouldn't last more than a month. I'll leave some stuff with you in case you get really distressed with them or need to remove them quickly."

He pulled off his shirt and I held up my hand before he could remove his tee shirt. "I'm going to do your arms first, so you can stop there." Is there anything sexier than a man in a white tee shirt? That's a rhetorical question by the way. "It's going to take me a few minutes to get ready, so you might as well go back to your book."

He nodded and it's like I've dropped off the face of the planet. I measured out the dry henna powder and that was when I realized I didn't have any eucalyptus oil. "I'll be right back," I told him, but he gave no indication of hearing me or even caring whether I was there or not.

Jas was able to fix me up and I was heading back to my little room when a good -looking, dark-haired guy stopped me.

"You're the tattoo artist?"

"That would be me." I mean I've got the damned things running up and down my arms, my neck, just about every bit of flesh available. A blind man could pretty much tell what I did for a living.

"I need a favor."

Oh, the trouble that phrase has gotten me into before. Still, nothing ventured. "What sort of favor?"

"Well, more of a request. When you're tattooing Illya, I was wondering if I could suggest this?"

He handed me a piece of paper. _Carpe diem_, that's pretty safe. "Anywhere in particular?" He pointed and I chuckled. "He'll let me do that… there?"

"If he thinks it's a Section Eight edict, he will." The guy gives me a blast of a smile and I find myself nodding.

"Wait, who are you?"

"His partner."

Okay, now we're skipping a couple of months ahead. Life had come and gone on pretty much as usual. I was in the back room of my tattoo parlor, heating up some soup on a hot plate, when Chloe stuck her head through the curtain.

"Kelly, you available for a private tat?" I keep a table in the back for people are wanting something a bit more intimate done. "We have someone out front who's asking for you by name."

"Sure, lunch can wait. Customers can't." I turned off the soup. "Who is it?"

"Never saw him before. Blond, killer blue eyes, short."

I thought for a moment. Nah, it couldn't be… "Does he have an accent?"

"Yeah, so you do know him?"

"Well, I thought I did." I followed her out and sure as God made little green apples, there is Mr. Kuryakin studying the walls and looking about as out of place as a nun at a showing of _Oh Calcutta!_

"Hey, Mr. Kuryakin, what can I do for you?" I shook his hand nice and firm, the way guys like it and led the way to back room. "There's a bit more privacy back here." I explained as we walked. "You're not having problems with those henna tats we did, are you? Some folks don't react well to the black dye.

"Not at all." He paused like he was working up his nerve. I know what it's like getting your first tattoo. It's a big step and not everyone can take it, even when they're lying on the table and I'm about to start. I always work real slow up to that point in case they change their minds. "I'd like one made permanent."

"I can do that." I started to recall the ones we'd used, the Chinese symbols on his arms would be too visible, making him too easy to pick out of a crowd, the ying/yang a bit less obvious, but still out there. "Which one?" He just looked at me and I picked up on it. "Oh, that one." Now I understood the reason for his wanting a bit of privacy. Not every guy is comfortable about bearing his… assets to the world.

"Just undo your belt and fly and lie down on the table." He did and I started to prep the area. Guys always get a little nervous when you start waving a razor anywhere below their chin, so I kept up a steady stream of meaningless conversation to take his mind off what I was doing. "This was a special request, you know."

"Yes, I do." He was staring into space now, obviously heading for his happy place.

"Just wanted to be sure we understood each other before we passed the point of no return. " He did, so I did and let's just say, I'm not sure who was seizing his… day, but they don't pay me to think, just ink…


End file.
